Falling
by Bulldust
Summary: The ending of a story brings the beginning of a new one.


Warning: Death and gore

Consider this a new view on "The Fall"

He used a nearby tree to steady himself, panting. After he managed to get his feet back under himself, he left the tree in favor of the downward slope, leaving a dark smear behind. The dark russet male skid and scraped down the slope in the wake of the beating rain. Autumn had begun to take hold on the land, withering away flora with a softened touch. The leaves had started to fall haphazardly on the ground, their crisp edges becoming slick and sodden with rain.

A misplaced step on a wet slab of leaves sent the male plummeting down the hillside by several feet. He gave a ragged snarl and shook himself, the water flying from his coat was tinted red. His eyes were angry as he looked down at his leg; the foreleg was covered in shallow cuts and marks that opened up again, dribbling fresh blood.

It wasn't his only injury. The male's entire body was littered with wounds from countless encounters. His most recent fight had been with a lone female he had met the other night. The crow's were currently pulling her eyes from her sockets.

His whole body ached with the constant fighting, but he ignored the pain in favor of another fight. He didn't have any reason to think of the long term toll he was putting on his body. His life was stripped away from him, and now all he could do was kill everyone else to make up for it.

He already racked up a hefty kill count in less than a year. He killed off entire families in his rage during the warmer months. With the oncoming of autumn, he began to pick of stray dispersals. His thoughts drifted absentmindedly towards that female he met just the other night. His shoulder throbbed where she bit him, reminding him of their encounter. He gave a soft growl as he remembered holding her down on her back as he tore at her throat. Her blood still stained his torso.

The downpour only added to his frustrations as he skidded down the graveled slope. He didn't have a destination in mind. He had no desire to go anywhere, no drive to do anything but kill. Kill everything and everyone he could. Perhaps he was getting back at the world and how unjust his life was. Or maybe he was no longer in his right mind.

He paused in his steps when he heard a distant rumble. He would have kept moving if the ground wasn't shaking. He glared towards the source of the quakes to see a panicked herd of elk running into the valley in front of him. Perhaps a hunting party had spooked them into a stampede. He sat down and watched the herd, their forms fuzzy in the fog. The elk ran into the mist and disappeared from his sight, their stomping gaits fading into oblivion.

He was thoughtful, gazing down into the valley. The rain had finally washed away the blood from his coat when he stood and made his way towards the elk. The prolonged rain coupled with the mud and soft ground meant there were bound to be injured elk down there. They could have easily slipped and be crushed by their herd mates. He licked his grizzled muzzle. There could be a calf down there he could strangle. Or better yet, an adult he can pull the skin off of in a slow torturous death.

His heavy feet sank into the softer earth, water and silt began to well around his paws. He lifted his caked feet higher and began to follow the trail the herd made. Their thundering steps made huge scores in the earth, kicking up still green summer grasses and throwing them aside as debris. The trenches the carved with their hooves were deep at points, the male had to be careful where he stepped. He parted his lips as he breathed in the air, hoping for blood. All he could smell was the damp air and earth kicked into the air.

As he plodded along through the muddy no man's land, something moved in the corner of his eye. A form of some sort of animal rose in his vision, but he was too far away to make out what it was. It was small. Definitely smaller than an elk calf at this time of year. He gave a sniff, hoping to catch a scent. All that came to his nose was earth and water. Another moment passed before he turned towards this mystery creature. He had every intention to kill it, regardless of what it was.

For what felt like hours of trudging through thick mud he finally stood above the creature, and he had a closer look at the thing. The object of his attention was a soaking dirty pup. It was _thin_ , even under all that mud he could see the hollow of where its belly should be. Its hind legs looked so weak and thin that he could snap it with ease. Its forelegs were quaking under the pressure of just holding itself up, or maybe it was fear. He bore his gaze into her eyes. They were wide open and clear, swimming with fears and terror.

This was the most pathetic excuse of a creature he had ever seen in his life.

It could barely even keep its head up, it was so weak. This pitiful creature was born into the world with pain and had suffered all throughout its life. Its legs were so brittle, its face was so gaunt.

He felt a soft flare of anger deep within his stomach. No one should have to live like this. No one this weak should be allowed to raise the next generation and spread its suffering and _weakness_. He felt his legs tense as he looked down at the pup for a moment. Its eyes held fear and confusion.

He lunged forward and snapped his jaws around its frail neck. It let out a horrendous scream that cut off with a hollow crack sounding from its throat. He held onto its limp body for a few moments, canines still deep within her thin neck. He dropped her body on the sodden ground without grace, licking his lips. He must have torn an artery, for its neck bleed freely where his fangs gouged its skin.

His heart thrummed in his chest as he made his way out of the valley. As he climbed the slope out of the area he heard very faint howls in the distance. They were too far off in the distance to make out anything from them. It was most like the family of that sick pup he killed.

Reliving that death blow he gave to that pup gave him a renewed sense of passion. He had never felt so driven in so long, it was inspiring. Ever since his life fell apart last winter, he wandered around blindly and kill everything he could. But now he had a purpose for his blood lust. He had targets to take his anger out on: the weak. The weak must wiped from the land. No one should have to suffer a terrible fate as that pup had. His life's mission would be to purge the land from the ill and weak.

He felt the weight in his chest lighten a bit as he trotted through the trees. He was glad he crossed paths with that sickly, pitiful animal. That pup gave him a purpose, a drive. He will reap the land of the weak and send them on their way to Meadow.

He felt himself smile in bliss.

Author's Note: Its my boy Wawelski from "Friendship" and his lovely daughter Mesa. You can find out more about Wawelski here:

/c/wolfquest/page/item/wawelski/882a_ndHXInGLoXLrabXzvBBXwZJznwk70


End file.
